I am elated to announce in the last month six of my pieces have been selected to be shown in three galleries around Atlanta between September and November!

The pieces reflect the bounty and breadth of beauty in our world, from its landscapes, to lives, to shared experiences such as enjoying a late night hot dog or clamoring into a tiny space to catch a glimpse of Jesus’ birthplace.

Please come check them out, even take one (or more) home to enjoy at your leisure!

I am so grateful for your support and encouragement to help me get to this point. I look forward to keeping you posted on what unfolds!

“Enliven your people with compassion
that peace and justice
might flourish.”

Thinking of the our beloved world and all who live in it today. Thinking of the turmoil, the violence, the need for peace and for healing. Thinking of one who has “borne the fruit of love” as a leader and reconciler in the Middle East, Jimmy Carter…

With these thoughts I offer this prayer for us all. Thank you Nan Merrill for your magnificent rendition of Psalm 80.

Eternal Listener, give heed to your people,
You, who are our Guide and our Light!
You, who dwell amidst the angels,
shine forth into the heart of all nations!
Enliven your people with compassion
that peace and justice
might flourish.

…May those who have borne the fruit
of love
radiate your Spirit in the world!
May we always walk and co-create
with You…

My hope is to present you with a window into the magnificently resilient, inspiring, forward-thinking, eclectic country that is Lebanon. Despite its history of trials and tragedies, including a war from 1975-1990 which the country is still recovering from, Lebanon has persevered. It has also generously opened its doors to others in need and remained a fairly stable and peaceful land amidst war-torn neighbors.

Unfortunately, the tides are beginning to change and new restrictions are beginning to arise as the number of refugees in Lebanon has skyrocketed in the last two years due to violence in both Syria and Iraq. Prior to this recent influx, Lebanon received a flood of refugees fleeing from Palestine, largely from 1948-1967 when it was divided from the new state of Israel and came under the rule of Jordan. Currently, Lebanon is experiencing a growing number of immigrants from African and South Asian countries, as well. Now 25%, if not more, of Lebanon’s small population of four million is made up of immigrants and refugees. You can imagine the challenge this places on the country’s infrastructure. Yet, what can they do? How morally afflictive would it be for this culture steeped hospitality if they had to one day close their borders completely?

Amidst the challenges, uncertainties and pressures these fast changes have brought, the people in Lebanon–natives, refugees, and immigrants alike– live lives of astounding resilience, hope, and joy. People are joining together, extending exemplary hospitality and showing remarkable compassion. It is these people I introduce to you.

May you be blessed and inspired as you meet our brothers and sister in the Middle East face to face, eye to eye, story to story–yours and theirs, now a part of each others.

Oh Gaza… My tears stream and heart cries for you and your people. It cries for Israel, too. All lives lost, all hate rampant, all love covered in ash and blood and tears. But love will win, it will prevail. And love will be seen at least here, in these words, in these stories told with the hope that all our hearts might unite in one song of mercy, compassion and love. In honor of the Gazan’s suffering these long days I offer a poem by one of your many great poets, Susan Abulhawa:

The Siege

Every night, hearts break and bleed themselves to sleep
And in the morning,
They are whole and full again

Suraya
Moves through the day gripping her poems
Holding her breath
With limbs that slowly become heavy as the earth spins
The hours pass
The sky dims
And Gaza is still under siege.

She climbs into the trauma of enclosure
Tucks herself in
As darkness quietly curls her limbs
And she closes her eyes
So she can open them on the other side
Where her poetry assembles into dreams

Mjahid
Gazes westward
His eyes skimming the surface of the Mediterranean
An expanse hemmed in by
Mercenary ships and
An invisible three-mile radius

He turns eastward, then north
Where forever and futures bounce
Off metal and fences and meanness

Hope hunches in the southern corner
Battered, breathing in the dank and dark
Underworld of tunnels

He looks upward
And plays his oud to
Hang the stars back in place
After the sky has fallen

Laila and Yousef
Imagine an ephemeral
Salve of touch
As love’s sorrowful hands
Burrow in the sand
To seek redemption
And a story unwritten begs
To breathe

They find their way to the shore
Eyes upon the same empty moon
And the sky devoid of promise
The winds caress her cheeks
And, miles away, wrap around him
Until their fingers find each other
Inch closer
Interlace
And they hold hands

Wow, it’s here. Tomorrow I host my first art auction. I’m fundraising on the back end for my visual storytelling workshop in Portugal and on the front end for a trip to Lebanon and Syrian in November where I will use the skills I gained in Portugal to tell the stories of the faithful and courageous pastors and Christians in the Middle East.

It’s been a week of go-go-go, all the while trying to honor my need for rest and balance. A challenge, for sure, but amazing to see my resilience.

The event has not gone as planned. The plan would have been fulfilled with the success of a small (due to limited parking) reunion/fundraiser enjoyed by a number of my friends I traveled to the Middle East with a few years ago. Since one of those friends had graciously offered the venue, and experienced had proven everyone from our group LOVES any and every opportunity to get together, we both thought everything, and everyone, would fall right into place.

Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, West Bank, Palestine

Siq Petra, Jordan

Nope. I was pretty disappointed about this for a little while. I was still holding onto hope people were merely taking their sweet time to RSVP. However, once the reminder email went out and the date to respond arrived, ‘No’s streamed into my inbox.

So, on Monday I found myself thinking: okay, it’s summer, people are out of town; it’s now four days before a Friday night event and most people plan much farther in advance for weekend plans; is anyone going to be there?

My fears of failure and humiliation which I had pretty successfully let go of by this point began to creep back. Fairly quickly though, I was reassured by remembering of words of loved ones I’d heard throughout the preceding days, “It’s not about being successful, it’s about being faithful,” and, “It’s okay, it’s your first one.” Or, “…first salon,” as my uncle and dad so sweetly kept referring to it.

My perspective began to shift as I acknowledged my fear and recognized it was feeding unwanted pride and other negative self-seeking motives. I was able to step back and transform my goal. Ultimately, when the event is over I want to feel satisfied. Satisfaction doesn’t require the attendance of particular people or making an outstanding profit, it requires an inner awareness and peace I have been faithful. Tangibly, this faithfulness looks like the steps I’ve prayerfully taken, letting my creativity flow, all the networking I’ve done, letting myself learn from the process instead of beating myself up, having fun along the way, asking for prayers, showing myself love and grace, just showing up. Offering my best. This is satisfaction for me. Success, as well. The results, those are in God’s hands.

Tabgha, Sea of Galilee, Israel

It’s a hard thing, a very hard thing, to let go of control. Once you do though, wow, it’s freeing. The pressure is off, but the motivation is still ripe. You receive the joy of discovering your true role and God’s true role. God’s: to be God, in control, providing, being faithful, gracious, kind, loving, challenging, mysterious, good. Ours: to respond in gratitude to God by co-creating with God, using our gifts, releasing our desires in order to have them be fulfilled as dreamed or by something even better, being open to the bigger picture, trusting God, going with the flow.

With this release of expectations followed a new lens and a wider view. I began to think beyond my initial dream to something deeper, purer, greater. I thought, here I have all this delicious food, wine, art, live jazz music, and a pool, I just want people to get to enjoy it!

Now that I’ve had to create pretty much entirely new guest list, I’ve had the opportunity to invite loads more people. People from a very wide variety of circles. This means more people are exposed to the work I’m doing! Additionally, due to the limited timing and availability of parking space, most of my invites have been to people I randomly run into. These face to face exchanges are always better, on every level–for commitment to the event, relationship development, and lasting memory of the cause. Awesome!

So, as I wrap this up I find myself basking in joy, wonder, awe and affirmation. My mind and heart have been transformed. I have grown in deeper trust in God and I am already tasting the sweetness of peace and satisfaction.

I invite you to enjoy some of my restful and reflective photography on my Etsy shop, Lux Pix: Where Life is Illuminated (luxpix.etsy.com). Plus, if you would like to support my trip a great way is to make a work of my art your own!

As Advent and this Holy Land series draw to a close and the long awaited day of celebrating the birth of a most extraordinary baby draw near, I thought it timely to share the story of my own birthday, September 16, the final week of our travels. The realization of celebrating my birthday on this trip started off with anticipation, followed by a bit of disappointment, and then renewed anticipation, much like the mixed sentiments around Jesus’ birth.

My initial anticipation was ignited by my first glances at the itinerary. When I received it I immediately scanned the document to see what was planned on my birthday. I was astounded. I mean, it was enough that I was going to be traveling in the Holy Land on the 28th anniversary of my life, but it was even more euphoric to discover we were set to be in the holiest place in this land, doing some of the holiest of things! We were going to be in Jerusalem and Bethlehem.

The schedule had us beginning the day on the Mount of Olives and commencing from there down the traditional Palm Sunday route. That is, the way in which Jesus traveled into the heart of Jerusalem, the week before his crucifixion. (For more all Palm Sunday read Luke 19:28-44). Along the way down the mountain (glorified hill, really) we would stop in the Garden of Gethsemene. The prospect of this stop was actually the most exciting of all for me that day because it is the one place during my first visit in 2011 where I felt like I finally connected to the Biblical story. Until the garden I felt overwhelmed by and numb toward everything I was seeing in Jerusalem. I thought, what a special gift it is that God would bring me back here on my birthday! Following the Garden of Gethsemene we would head to Mount Zion, and then Solomon’s Pools the Jerusalem water source for thousands of years. We would then complete the day in Beit Sahour (the Shepherd’s Fields) and Bethlehem! I could not believe it! I was going to get to see my dear Palestinian friend, Ashraf and see the site of Jesus’ birth on my birthday! I could hardly contain my joy.

Then, the itinerary changed. My heart sank and I thought, why, God? Why get me all excited and then change it all?

Our itinerary had to be changed because of Yom Kippur. Our ability to travel through the city by any other mode than foot would be impossible on the 15th so in order to see all we needed and wanted to see we had to flip our dates in Galilee and Jerusalem.

So, I did not get to wander Jerusalem on my birthday, but I still got to wake up there and I still got to spend time in Palestine. In fact, as the day unfolded, with its numerous surprise, and I love surprises (well, except for surprise changes in itineraries), I was astounded by how wonderfully the day turned out!

As we left Jerusalem that morning, we passed the sprawling ancient wall of the old city and all the historical treasures held within. We made our way north to Galilee. Our first stop was in the region of Samaria in the Palestinian city of Shechem (or Sychar, now Nablus). Here, God told Abram some of the most powerful words in history, “To your descendants I give this land (Gen. 12.6-8).” Here, Jacob’s well resides–the location where generations of people gathered water for themselves and their flocks. People including Jesus. In fact, it is one of the few sites archeologists have been able to confirm is the actual well referred to in John 4 when Jesus had that infamous talk with the Samaritan woman. She said to him, ‘”I know the Messiah is coming (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us (John 4:25).”‘ Here, to the Samaritan woman, God (Jesus) responded with one of the most powerful statements in all of history: “I am he, the one who is speaking to you, (John 4:26)”–the Messiah, the one who saves. What extraordinary events. What an extraordinary place… And, I realize as I write now this, how appropriate it is to remember this story at this time, as we are six days away from celebrating Jesus coming into the world to save us all.

Like most monuments in Holy Land, this, too, had a church build over/around it. Jacob’s Well church was absolutely gorgeous. We entered through its white, street level archway into an open courtyard draped in green vines and bright flowers. We descended down white steps to the courtyard floor decorated with a massive mosaic of the well. I took my time drinking in the beauty. It struck me as one of the most lovely, welcoming places we had visited so far.

Time seemed to stop here. Something jostled me back to reality and I realized this was not the case. I looked around and noticed my group had gone inside ahead of me and I was left alone, again. I caught the eye of a man in the doorway who appeared to be the groundskeeper and thought perhaps he was suggesting I needed to return to my group. So, I quickly finished my photos and rushed in. He noticed my hurried movement and said in a kind voice something to the effect of, “It’s okay, take your time.” He followed with, “Come see me when you are finished I have a present for you.” This was curious indeed, but I was too curious to pass it up.

In the mean time I cast my eyes upon the elegant Orthodox church. It truly was not gaudy like many others. It was elaborate and ornate with a three-tiered circular gold candelabra and a gold coffin-like piece of furniture on the right with candles. It was also very light inside (perhaps that’s why I liked it so much). The interior wasn’t cream or darkened stone, like so many churches we had visited, but it was painted bright white, mostly. There were also were also magnificent heaven-height, brilliant colored paintings adorning the walls.

We walked down some stairs near altar in the transept of the church into a small underground “cell”, of sorts. Here stood the well. No photos were allowed (hence the sketch). The square well still functioned so, naturally, we gave it a try. Andre, our guide, gave the challenge a go and began to turn the handle on the wheel holding the rope to let down the bucket. The wheel creaked with a high-pitched screech at each turn as the rope-dangling bucket descended down the millennia-old shaft to the water below. But, we were all willing to endure the sound for a site and, more importantly, a taste of the ancient source’s treasure. I was amazed the water still existed and moreover was still drinkable! After a bit of time, it was a 40 meter-deep well, and a bit of a work out, the bucket reemerged from the depths. We admired the clear liquid for a moment then each dipped our cupped hands in. It was cold, clean, and had a hint of sweetness. It was refreshing to my tongue and on my forehead as I placed the sign of the cross upon it with my finger.

When we returned to the sanctuary above I scanned the space for the sweet-faced groundskeeper. I found him and made my way over to him. When he saw me he beckoned me follow him to the little display of tourist trinkets and grabbed something from behind the counter. It was a small wooden piece, perhaps 2 in. x 2 in. with two little vials on either side of a drawing of Jesus with the Samaritan woman at the well. On the bottom was scrolled “Jacob’s Well”. He explained, pointing first to the vial on the left, this is myrrh and this,” pointing to the right, “is water [from the well].” I received it with such joy and hugged him expressing my immense thanks. I felt like I had encountered an angel. This man had no idea it was my birthday, had no reason to single me out or show me kindness, but he did. I walked out held in awe and joy.

I still look back on that day with amazement. Isn’t that so like God? To let us conceive of a picture of who God is or what God does and then change it up on us only to gift us with something even more marvelous than we could have dreamed? And, in the smallest and greatest of ways. From the little details of how I, one of seven billion others of God’s people, would spend my birthday, to the greatest of world-changing events when God would choose to become like us, be born into the world like us, and change the course of history.
And this is just the beginning.

Note: “Palestinian” can describe both an Arab who lives in the West Bank and an Arab who lives in Israel. Therefore, a Palestinian isn’t necessarily an Arab Israeli, however an Arab Israeli is a Palestinian.

Jerusalem is actually the second poorest city in Israel. This is due to the fact that almost 1/3 of the city is Orthodox Jewish, 75% of which one might call “ultra Orthodox” (known as “Haredim”) meaning they adhere to a traditional form of Jewish law and reject modern secular culture, and many do not work for pay. Rather, they attend Yeshiva, a school where they study ancient texts, primarily the Talmud and Torah, as a full time occupation. They also are exempt from the army, which is considered a bit of a scandal because they are reaping the benefits of the socialist country’s resources without putting back into it in a quantitatively measurable way, including the payment of taxes. This is one of the major current conflicts between the Orthodox Jews and secular Jews.

The Arab Israelis and Jews pay the same 25% tax in Jerusalem, however, the Arab Israelis, who make up about 30% of the city’s population, receive only 10% of the taxes benefits. In practical terms this means, for example, in East Jerusalem, where most of the Arab Israelis live, it is quite run-down and trash-ridden because the trash is picked up only once a week, if that often, while it is collected multiple times a week in Jewish areas.

Everyone living in Israel or an Israeli occupied territory (Palestine) is required by law to carry an identity card (“Teudat Zehut”). The cards vary based on an individual or family’s “status”, ethnicity, and history. Those who live in Israel hold blue identity cards. A blue identity card allows a person to pass between Israel and the West Bank without having to stop at the check point, generally.

There are two primary kinds of blue cards for Arab Israelis. If a person or family received a blue identity card following the First Arab-Israeli War of 1948 (known as the War of Independence by Israeli Jews), then they have access to all the social benefits offered by the Israeli government as well as the right to vote in all elections. A person who received a blue identity card after 1967 (when Israel took control of the West Bank from Jordan) does not have access to any social provisions from the state and is only allowed to vote in municipal elections.

As explained in the previous post, “Some Facts About the West Bank“, those who live in Palestine (the West Bank and Gaza Strip) hold green identity cards. These indicate residency rather than citizenship. If a person holds a green ID card this means that person is only allowed to cross through the big checkpoints going into Jerusalem. These have machines which detects the type of access into Israel the Palestinian has. Primarily, what time of day and for how long the person can be in Jerusalem. For example, 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. or 6 p.m. to 7 or 8 p.m. There are some exceptions, like for clergy. As one of my friends living in Beit Sahour, a primarily Christian city in the West Bank near Bethlehem, explained, “Mine and some of the clergies have 00:00 – 00:00 (24 hours) but this does not mean that we are allowed to sleep in Israel or drive a car and so on….”

The Arab Israelis for the most part are poorer, commonly, because they tend to have the lowest jobs, both in status and pay, due to discrimination. While they technically have equal access to education there aren’t many schools in their neighborhoods and the quality varies.

Arab Christians across the country have somewhat better conditions than Arab Muslims. Our guide’s take on it was, ‘They are the minority so they push themselves more. They are known to be the leaders across the Middle East.’ He added, ‘They pass exams first,’ too. This he attributes this to the missionary schools and the value of education found there.

Housing suburbs for Jerusalem have been built across the 1967 border between Israel and Palestine (the West Bank) since the end of The Six Day War, making them “settlements”, or, housing built by the occupier on the occupied land. Such an act is illegal under international law, however, despite efforts by the U.N., Israel continues to build these settlements. A handful of American activist groups have tried to bring this issue to light to get the U.S. to stop its ally, Israel, from continuing to build, but have not yet been successful. Former President Jimmy Carter is one of the consistent voices in calling out the illegal behavior of Israel, as exhibited this September in an op ed piece in Haaretz, Israel’s oldest daily newspaper. (http://www.haaretz.com/mobile/.premium-1.547086)

About 99% of the settlement residents are Jewish. There is no law against Arab Israelis/Palestinians living there, but, while settlements are cheaper to live in than other areas of Jerusalem, have good infrastructure and have easy access to the city via public transit, it is hard to imagine Palestinians wanting to move into them. They never feel quite accepted, I was told. The few Arab Israelis who do live in settlements are primarily business people coming to the city for work.

I sit down with Aseel Bannoura. Her face is cheerful, her eyes are bright, her words are astoundingly articulate. Her eloquent English allows her to be perfectly frank with me as I start to ask her questions. Her frankness alone takes me by surprise, but even more striking is the lack of bitterness or anger in her tone. She just tells it to me straight. Even with a whiff of humor now and then.

She is a student at Al-Quds University, a Palestinian University with campuses in Abu Dis, al-Bireh, and in Jerusalem, where Aseel attends. Her English fluency is in part because she is part of a dual-degree program with Bard College at Al-Quds.

The situation is a bit complicated. On many levels. For one, she explains, ‘[It’s an] unidentified college by Israelis. They want us to leave the college… It’s the only institute named after Jerusalem, but not identified by Israel Al-Quds.’ I interpret this to mean: it exists, but it is not officially accepted as one of Israel’s Universities by Israel.

The situation is complicated on a basic, ground level, as well. “We have gas bombs there,” she plainly states.

What? My jaw drops, I’m stunned. Okay, call me naïve, I guess I should not be too surprised knowing the conflict. But, when reality jumps off the newspaper page and right into my face I am shocked by it. Aseel goes on to tell me one went off just this week! The students were crying, everyone was upset, parents were horrified, she recounts. I cannot even imagine.

In addition to terrorism and violence, Aseel and other Palestinian students have to engage the daily challenge, frustration, and humiliation of crossing the border through the check point between the West Bank and Jerusalem. “Even the American students know about this, know why we’re late to class.” It’s the same story as with every other Palestinian: potential hold-ups, interrogation, intimidation. I try to conceive what this is like. It’s beyond my imagination. I’ve had experiences being discriminated against and harassed for being a woman. It’s horrible–sickening. It’s one of those experiences where you don’t realize how strongly it’s going to affect you until you’re in it. To face similar and worse oppression twice a day, everyday is unfathomable to me. But, she, and hundreds, maybe thousands, of others do it. Everyday. They keep living. They must. It’s the only way they will survive.

She would like to see that Palestinians get the 1948 lands back. One third to one half of the Palestinians have emigrated, she explains. Despite the diaspora, she says, “Nobody ever gives up their history. [We all have the] right to return.”Fast forward to today:

As I was preparing to post this interview I came across the news there was a recent uproar at Al-Quds University in Jerusalem. Bard was not the only college in partnership with Al-Quds, Brandeis and Syracuse were, as well. That is, up until mid November. As explained by Algemeiner, “Brandeis University and Syracuse University formally ended their ties with Al- Quds, after a rally held by Islamic Jihad on the Al-Quds campus, which its president, Sari Nusseibeh, did not initially condemn.”

I found Aseel’s words on the occupation all the more poignant in light of this recent tragedy. “I think we’re all able to live together. We’re all humans.” One can only hope.

For more on the alliance between Bard College and Al-Quds University and the University’s recent severing of relationship between Brandeis and Syracuse due to a rally last month read:

The young woman walks into Ashraf’s office with a kind, confident, but slightly shy smile on her face. Her hair dark and wavy, her skin tan and sun-kissed. She could blend in with any of the thousands of high school-age girls from my hometown in southern California. Her one clear difference: the white uniform shirt she dons; with its black pleather shoulder pads and small, but distinct, Palestinian flag stitched over the front right pocket. She is a scout and today is a ceremony for those moving up in rank.

Bisan is named after an area near Tiberias. It’s now occupied. “I’m a refugee from Jaffa,” she explains.

“What’s it like to live under occupation?” I ask.

“[There’s] no freedom. [You] can’t go anywhere without Israeli permission. …I can’t treat them normally. I feel they make borders and I can’t build a friendship with them.”

She goes on to tell me she played basketball with some Israelis at a center using sports to promote peace between Palestinians and Israelis. This jogs my memory to recall a program in Northern Ireland one of my friends worked with called “Peace Players” which promotes reconciliation between Catholics and Protestants there. Unfortunately, it sounds like the program here is not so well received. At least by Bisan.

“They are promoting life as if settlements and the occupation are normal. Beit Sahour is very strong in patriotism because they are against the occupation. Other cities live as if its normal.”

I explain I am asking all these questions because I perceive it is one of the few things I can do as a Westerner who has little ability to really understand the conflict and occupation. I yearn to understand and help, though, even if feebly. I figured I can listen, learn and share the stories of those who I meet, like her. I ask her what else she recommends I can do.

“Don’t buy Israeli products.”

I can manage that, I think to myself.

I move on. “What would you like to see happen?”

“[I would like to see] one Palestinian state. I think Israelis don’t have the right to take any one cent of our land. Israelis are Zionists and created this conflict. …It’s our land and we can’t live freely on it.”

“Where would Israelis live?” I inquire.

“They would live with us under Palestinian rule. We have the right to return and rule.”

September 12While in the West Bank I had the incredible opportunity to connect with one of my dear friends who I first met while studying at The Ecumenical Institute for the World Council of Churches at Bossey in Switzerland. Ashraf Tannous is now a Lutheran pastor and headmaster, of sorts, at the Evangelical Lutheran Church and School established in 1901 in Beit Sahor (“Shepherd’s Fields”).

He met up with our group for lunch at Ruth Restaurant located across from the shepherds’ field and owned by some very kind, hospitable Christians, not to mention fantastic chefs. Ashraf was able to rearrange his busy schedule so he could also join us after our meal in the shepherd’s “field” (park) and the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.

Church in the Shepherds’ Field Cave, Beit Sahour

Thanks to Ashraf’s friendships with the Orthodox priests at the Church of the Nativity, I joined him on a special, but tragic tour through the crypt holding the reputed remains of the baby boys whom King Herod had slain (ref. Matthew 2:7-8; 16-18).

Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem

Following that visit, he and I departed from my group, were picked up by one of his friends and headed to his church back in nearby Beit Sahour. It was my first time during the entire trip to be in a local’s car. It was like crossing this threshold between tourist and guest. I was now a guest—moreover, a friend. From here, everything changed.